FORTY-SEVEN
Bobby drove the patrol car while Jack muttered. They talked about Millwall Football Club. To Jack, life was made up of these big worries that seemed to elude Mandy, so he was beginning to let Mandy worry about the little things. He’d reassured her he can deal with Millwall and the Government. Clearly a load-off her shoulders, and Bobby agreed; they were always off the same hymn sheet.
After waving Bobby off, Jack headed into the school reception where his sense of a balanced life vanished as another Big Society tart refused him access. It was Father Mike to the rescue, again, as Jack rummaged for his warrant card.
‘Oh, hello Father?’ the receptionist said.
‘Oh, hallooooo Father,’ Jack's best mincing cod-Irish.
‘Let the dipstick through Betty, he’s with me,’ Mike, the mince
